Page 63 of Balancing Act (Soulmate #1)

TWENTY-TWO

JAMIE

The voicemail ended, and Jamie pulled the phone away from her ear, a swell of panic rising up inside of her. She sat at the island counter in Beth’s kitchen, gray light filtering in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

For the first time, the dreaded annual mammogram appointment had slipped Jamie’s mind. Usually, the mark on her calendar every year taunted her, threatened her with the possibility that time would finally catch up to her.

She instantly felt sick at that thought as she reached out for the glass of water in front of her, but instead of grasping the cup, she bumped it, sending it rolling across the counter before it dropped to the floor with a crash.

“Shit!” Jamie muttered in panic, as shards scattered, glinting under the light. She quickly lifted her computer out of the reach of the pool of water expanding across the counter.

Her pulse was racing, chest constricting. It was just a glass. But the sound of the shatter seemed to reverberate in her skull, growing louder and louder.

“Jamie?” Beth’s voice came from the hallway, light with concern. Footsteps followed, and then Beth appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on the paint-stained apron she always wore while working in her studio. Her brow furrowed as she took in the scene. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Jamie didn’t look up as she set aside her laptop, hands moving to grab paper towels. “I’m fine,” she lied, as she tried to clean up the mess she had made. “Dropped a glass.”

Beth stepped closer, her voice softening. “Hey, it’s okay. Let me help you?—”

“I said I’m fine,” Jamie snapped, her tone slicing the air between them. She immediately winced at the sound of her voice, staying focused instead on sweeping the shards into a pile with her hand wrapped in a paper towel. Her movements were quick, almost frantic.

It had only been a week since Beth had asked her to move in, and Jamie had hesitated—not saying no, but also not saying yes.

Things were still delicate between them.

Jamie had barely been able to stomach the look of disappointment on Beth’s face, and since then, her stomach had been twisted into a permanent knot with the fear of continuing to let Beth down.

Beth stopped in her tracks. She could hear the concern in her voice when she spoke, which only made her guilt worse. “Jamie, you’re going to cut yourself. Let me grab the dustpan.”

“I’ve got it,” Jamie said tightly, her jaw clenching as she avoided Beth’s gaze.

She knew how she must be coming off right now—tense, flustered, entirely out of sorts over such a minor accident—but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

Her hands trembled as she reached for another shard, and her stomach twisted when she saw a tiny smear of red bloom on the paper towel.

Beth crossed the room in a few quick steps, kneeling beside her. “You’re bleeding,” she said gently, reaching for Jamie’s hand. “Let me?—”

“I said I’ve got it!” Jamie jerked her hand back, the words coming out way too loud. She stood abruptly, tossing the paper towel onto the counter. “It’s a broken glass, Beth. I don’t need you hovering.”

Beth rocked back slightly, her face shifting from concern to something more guarded. She rose slowly, keeping her voice calm. “I’m not hovering. I’m trying to help.”

“If I wanted help, I would have asked for it,” Jamie bit out, her hands bracing on the counter as she stared at the shattered remains of the glass on the floor. Every muscle in her felt like it was clenching, bracing for retaliation.

But it didn’t come, at least not in the explosive way Jamie expected. Beth just folded her arms, her expression carefully strained. “Okay. Clearly, you’ve got this. Sorry for trying to be helpful,” she bit back.

Jamie laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Is that what this is? I don’t need to be coddled, Beth. I dropped a glass. It’s not a big deal.” No. No. No. She shook her head, the words tumbling out before she could stop them.

Beth’s lips pressed into a thin line, her voice quieter now but no less firm. “This isn’t about the glass, is it, Jamie? Talk to me.”

Jamie turned away, running a hand through her hair as she paced toward the sink. She should tell Beth about the mammogram. She knew Beth would be understanding but couldn’t bring herself to do it. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Beth took a slow breath as Jamie moved toward the trash can, taking a step closer to her, reaching out to touch her forearm. “You’ve been on edge all week. I have my guesses as to what’s happening, but I don’t know for sure unless you let me in.”

Beth’s big blue eyes implored her to open up, but she couldn’t.

The words she wanted to say felt thick and sticky in her throat, her pulse pounding louder with each passing second.

She tried to explain, but the words were tangled and too messy to unravel.

Instead, she clenched her fists and turned to Beth, her voice cold.

“Not everything is a deep, emotional crisis. Sometimes people have bad days.”

Beth blinked, visibly taken aback by the venom in her words. “You’re right,” she said carefully. “Not everything is a crisis. But this”—she gestured vaguely toward Jamie—“isn’t just a bad day. You’re shutting me out, Jamie, and I don’t know why.”

She clenched her jaw as she shook her head, her frustration boiling. “You’re reading too much into this. It’s fine. I’m fine. Can we drop it?”

Beth hesitated, her eyes searching Jamie’s face as if trying to decide whether to push further. Finally, she stepped back, her expression hardening. “Fine. If that’s what you want.”

Jamie’s stomach twisted at the disappointment in Beth’s voice.

Still, she couldn’t bring herself to say anything else, even though an apology already ran on an endless loop of I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry in her head.

The tension in the room was suffocating, pressing down on her like a weight she couldn’t escape.

“I need some air,” she muttered, grabbing her jacket. She didn’t wait for Beth to respond, instead striding toward the front door with quick, uneven steps.

As she stepped outside, the cool air hit her, cutting through the haze in her mind. She stood on the porch, her hands gripping the railing as she tried to steady her breathing. Her mind raced with fragments of the fight.

Why had she snapped like that? It wasn’t Beth’s fault. None of this was Beth’s fault.

Jamie exhaled sharply, her grip on the railing tightening.

God, the power this one stupid appointment had over her.

Still, she had forgotten about it until the doctor’s office had called to confirm her appointment.

But the truth was now clawing its way to the surface, refusing to be ignored.

This appointment scared the shit out of her, and no matter how much she tried to bury it, that fear had a way of seeping into everything else, including her and Beth.

She closed her eyes, her heart aching as she mentally replayed how she’d snapped at Beth and stormed out. This wasn’t who she wanted to be—not with Beth or anyone—but she didn’t know how to stop herself.

Taking a shaky breath, Jamie turned and walked down the steps, her feet carrying her away from the house.

She needed to clear her head to figure out how to untangle the mess inside her before it got too big and risked pushing Beth away further.

She wasn’t quite ready to talk to Beth, not yet. But Lily—Lily she could show up for.

Jamie hopped in the car and made her way to PGTC and spent the remainder of the day working with Lily.

She leaned against the padded wall, arms crossed as her eyes tracked Lily’s movements on the beam.

The faint hum of chalky air and rhythmic sounds of feet hitting mats filled the space, punctuated occasionally by the loud, commanding voices of the other coaches instructing younger gymnasts.

Jamie, however, said nothing, her silence deliberate.

She watched as Lily steadied herself, adjusting her arms into perfect alignment before flipping backward into a layout stepout.

The landing was solid—clean, even—but Jamie could see the tightness in Lily’s shoulders, the hesitation in her execution.

“Relax your arms,” Jamie called. “Trust your momentum to carry you through. If you’re too stiff, you’re fighting yourself.”

Lily rolled her shoulders, shaking her hands as she adjusted her stance for the next pass. She glanced over at Jamie, blue eyes searching for confirmation. Jamie met her gaze and gave her a slight nod. No words, only a look that said You’ve got this.

She launched into the following combination, and her movements flowed seamlessly this time, Lily’s back handspring feeding naturally into her full twist dismount. She landed with a satisfying thud, her feet sticking firmly to the mat.

Jamie’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Better,” she said, pushing off the wall and walking toward her.

Lily turned to face her, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. “It still feels off,” she muttered, tugging at the edge of her leotard. “The timing on the handspring isn’t right. It’s throwing off the twist.”

“Your timing’s fine,” Jamie replied. “You’re overthinking it. The second you start questioning yourself, you hesitate. And hesitation? That’s where mistakes happen.”

Lily pressed her lips together, clearly unsatisfied with the answer.

Jamie could see the wheels turning in her head, the familiar churn of self-critique that never seemed to stop.

It was like seeing her reflection in a mirror showing her a version of her younger self when she was grinding through routines, striving for perfection, feeling like nothing was ever good enough.

But then Lily surprised her.

Instead of letting the frustration settle, she squared her shoulders, her jaw setting with quiet determination. “Okay,” she said, her voice steady. “Let’s go again.”